Lost and Found (2 page)

Bertie fussed with her shawl. "I'm sure Babette wouldn't do anything nasty. She was always such a sweet child. Noisy and perhaps a teeny bit willful but very sweet. Don't you agree, Clarence?"

Dodie ignored the elderly pair. "I'll have to have a talk with her."

"I don't think talking is going to do any good, Mother. You know what a stubborn little witch she can be. We're going to have to do something more drastic than just talk to her."

Dodie nodded slowly. "I'm afraid you're right, Lance. We may have to do something more drastic."

❧

MALONE HEIRESS KIDNAPPED

Police Stumped for Clues

Babette Anne Malone was kidnapped two days ago by person or persons unknown. Ms. Malone was riding near her home in Montecito Monday afternoon, as was her usual practice. Her horse returned to the stables without her. A note was pinned to the saddle stating that the heiress would not be harmed and that a ransom demand would follow. As of this writing, no such demand has been received.

In six months, on her twenty-fifth birthday, Ms. Malone will inherit a fortune estimated to be worth nearly fifty million dollars. The money is part of the fabled Malone empire, which began in the late nineteenth century by Carlisle Malone and continued to grow in the twentieth under the leadership of his son Caldwell, grandfather of Ms. Malone.

In the late 1950s, Malone stock went public and Caldwell retired to a supervisory position, leaving control of the corporation's many interests in the hands of a board of directors.

Ms. Malone's father, Earl, was being groomed for the position of CEO when he and his wife, Lenore, were killed in an auto crash shortly after their daughter's seventh birthday.

Caldwell survived his son by only a few months, and when he died the bulk of his fortune was put in trust for his young granddaughter. His granddaughter's money is held until she marries or reaches her twenty-fifth birthday.

Ms. Malone is the niece of well-known adventure writer Emmet Malone.

The Malone family has offered a reward of fifty thousand dollars for any information leading to the whereabouts of Ms. Malone or her abductors.

"
D
ammit!" Sam shifted carefully, reaching backward to grasp a long thorny branch and ease its hold on his coat. Despite his care, he heard the nylon rip as the branch came loose and he gritted his teeth against the urge to turn and yank the ancient rosebush out of the ground.

The plant couldn't have made the last few hours any more miserable if it had been guided by a malevolent intelligence. At one time, it had been part of the elaborate landscaping that had surrounded the Empire Hotel in northern Idaho. The hotel had been abandoned a quarter of a century ago and the rosebushes had been left to grow in to a near impenetrable tangle of thorny canes.

Sam eased forward, hoping to avoid any more encounters with the bush behind him. The fact that the plants had provided him cover for the last sixteen hours didn't do much to ease his irritation. Sixteen hours ago he hadn't been cold and hungry. He shifted again and then muttered irritably. The roses might have provided him with cover but they hadn't done a very generous job of it. The hollow he'd found allowed him to watch the ramshackle old building without being seen, but it didn't include room to stretch out.

"I should have been a stockbroker. At least I could have been comfortable. This is a ridiculous occupation for a grown man. Playing cops and robbers. I should settle down and get a real job."

He shivered as a chill breeze found its way into the thick overgrowth. He didn't need to look at his watch to know that dawn was not far away. He'd move soon. He flexed his hands inside the warm gloves, his eyes on the hulking old building below.

All in all, he shouldn't complain. It had only taken him a week to find this place. A hunch had brought him here and it had paid off. Shortly before sunset, he'd seen the girl. The elation he'd felt at that moment had worn down during the long cold hours of the night but he was still pleased with the results of the past week's work. Fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money. He could put up with a lot of discomfort to get it.

He waited with the patience of a hunter, studying the terrain that lay between him and the building. He was studying it more in memory than by sight. In the gray predawn hour, the landscape was shrouded in shadows that concealed all but the most obvious features. The old pebble pathway gleamed pale, looking smooth and safe but he knew that it was not as smooth as it looked. Over the years creepers had stretched their way across it, offering to trip the unwary.

He wanted to get the girl out before the kidnappers realized they'd lost their victim. He checked the contents of his pack, making sure that he knew where everything was. His gun was tucked into his waistband, a reassuring pressure against his spine. A hunting knife lay along his calf. He hoped neither one would be needed.

The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon when Sam left his shelter. It was early May and the air was cold and damp. There was no sign of life from the old building. It looked as if no one had been near it since the last guest left twenty-five years before. But he knew there were at least three people there. With luck, he'd only have to deal with one of them. He hoped she wasn't the hysterical type. If she was, he'd have to coldcock her, and hitting a woman wasn't his favorite way to start a spring day.

He worked his way around the perimeter of the open space that had once been a manicured sweep of lawn. He'd already planned a quick escape route, and he left his pack where it would be easy to find. He hoped they wouldn't need it. He wanted to get in and out without them being any the wiser. With any luck, he and the girl could go straight to where he'd hidden his truck. But it never hurt to be prepared for any eventuality. He stripped off his heavy coat, laying it next to the pack. He flexed his fingers inside the gloves and reached back to touch the reassuring weight of the .45.

In the gray light he was an ominous figure. A black turtleneck stretched across the muscles of his chest and shoulders, disappearing into the waistband of a pair of soft black jeans. Black socks and black tennis shoes completed the dark picture. His hair was as black as the clothes, but when sunlight caught it, there were blue lights in it, a much softer shade than the dark blue of his eyes. But there was no light to soften the darkness of him now.

He drew in a deep breath, measuring the distance he'd have to cross before he reached the shelter of the building. Though the lawn had long since disappeared in a tangle of weeds, the space was still wide open. There was nothing to offer any concealment. There were no lights in the building and the kidnappers had no reason to suspect that they'd been found. They hadn't even bothered to post a guard. Still, crossing that open space was not something he liked. But it wasn't going to get any easier with waiting.

He crouched low, making his body as small as possible before darting into the open. For the few seconds it took him to cross the forty-yard space, he was totally vulnerable, a moving target for anyone watching. He sprinted the distance, deliberately blanking his mind to everything but the need to get into the shelter of the building. If someone was watching, he'd learn it soon enough. Probably in a way he'd rather not consider.

If anyone had been watching, they'd have seen little more than a shadow gliding across the lawn, a darker presence among the shadows already there. Almost as quickly as the eye could register that it was a man, he was gone, disappearing into the darkness that surrounded the big old building.

Sam pressed himself against the rough wood of the wall, his breathing only slightly accelerated. He'd accomplished the first step, but he didn't take time to congratulate himself. The first step was the easiest. The hard part came when he got the girl. So much depended on whether or not he had to take her out as a deadweight. If she could help herself, even just a little, it was going to make his task easier.

He loosened the coil of rope from his belt and stepped away from the wall. Directly above him was the balcony where he'd seen the girl. He was betting that it lay outside the room where they were keeping her. He swung the rope gently, loosening his arm, getting a feel for the weight of it. He moved back until he stood a few feet out from the balcony, once again in the open. He swung his arm once, twice, and on the third swing he let go, feeling the supple nylon slide through his gloved fingers. He held his breath as the rope sailed upward, pulled by the weight of the grappling hook on its end. The hook went over the edge of the balcony, hitting the wood with a quiet thud that sounded like a gunshot in the stillness.

But he couldn't worry about the noise. He was committed now. He just had to hope that the gods were watching over him. He yanked on the rope, pulling up the slack until the hook caught on the edge of the railing, digging into the wood and gripping. Sam yanked again, leaning his weight into the rope. He knew the rope would hold but he didn't have any such guarantees about the railing. It was old and old wood had a nasty tendency to rot. But there was no give in the rope and he gave thanks that the builders had seen fit to put quality materials into the hotel.

He slid his hands up the rope and tightened his grip. The muscles in his shoulders bulged as he pulled himself off the ground. His feet hooked around the rope, the rubber soles of his shoes gripping and assisting in the climb. He tried not to think about the fact that he was completely vulnerable. If someone chose to take a shot at him, there wasn't going to be a whole hell of a lot he could do about it.

When his hand touched the edge of the balcony, he heaved a silent sigh of relief. He was really going to have to consider changing occupations. Being a stockbroker had its advantages. His other hand gripped the balcony and he pulled himself upward. Just a few more minutes and this was going to be all over but the shouting. With fifty thousand dollars in his pocket, he could consider the advantages of a new career in comfort.

He swung his left leg over the railing. His foot touched the nice solid surface of the balcony—and a figure rushed out of the darkness and slammed into him. He teetered on the railing, his right foot dangling over the ground twenty feet below. It was only years of living on the edge that saved him.

His left foot braced against the inside of the railing, pushing him forward and away from the drop. He lunged away from the railing and toward his assailant. It was not a graceful maneuver. In fact, it was downright awkward, but Sam didn't care. It got him onto the solid surface of the balcony.

His assailant struggled loose from his clumsy grip and Sam felt the air leave his lungs as a foot connected with his solar plexis. He doubled up but straightened in time to block a second kick that would have forever destroyed his chances of fathering a child. The foot landed on his thigh, drawing a grunt of pain.

There was no time for conscious thought. He was in the midst of a life-and-death struggle. But some instinct held back the blow that would have laid his opponent out flat. Perhaps it was the size of his attacker. The men he'd seen had been average height, whereas this shadowy figure was much smaller. Perhaps it was the fact that the blows, no matter how effective, had not been all that powerful, nor that skilled. Or maybe it was the fact that the figure had made no attempt to call for assistance, as if he had as much reason to keep the battle quiet as Sam did.

Sam didn't have time to analyze his reasons. He'd learned over the years to trust his instincts. His arm came up to block a well-aimed blow that might have broken his windpipe if there'd been more power behind it. Whoever this was, he was planning on killing Sam. He'd had some martial arts training but there was a slight clumsiness to the moves that told Sam the training hadn't been put to daily use.

The figure lunged forward and Sam didn't wait to see what damage was intended this time. His foot swept out in a move so simple it caught his opponent totally off guard. His foot hit just at ankle level, sweeping forward and jerking the feet out from under his attacker. There was a quick gasp and then a grunt of pain as the hard floor of the balcony connected with softer flesh.

The fall knocked the breath out of his opponent and Sam didn't give him time to recover. Within moments, the short battle was over. The struggle was fierce but with the advantage of an extra hundred pounds, it didn't take Sam long to pin the other to the balcony.

Still not a word had been spoken. Sam knelt astraddle his victim and peered down, trying to make out something more than a dark figure. The light was still dim, and with the added shadows on the balcony it was impossible to see anything beyond a vague shape. Yet Sam had an eerie feeling___

"Ms. Malone?" The words were a question, seeking confirmation of his half-formed suspicions. The figure went absolutely still and he could feel the eyes watching him, but there was no sound. "Look, I'm here to rescue you." Still no answer. Maybe she was in shock? "Babette?"

"Don't call me that!" The voice was little more than a hiss, but it was definitely feminine. Sam felt some of the tension drain out of his body. He stared down at her, wondering if she looked anything like the pictures in the paper. The glimpse he'd gotten of her earlier had been from too far away to do anything more than just identify her.

"Are you going to sit on me all day?" The question was asked in an ill-tempered whisper and Sam gave a start, realizing that he still had her pinned down. Muttering an apology, he shifted away from her, climbing to his feet and offering his hand. She disdained his help, standing up by herself.

"Who are you?" There was an imperiousness in the demand that set his teeth on edge. Sam had to remind himself that Babs Malone was probably accustomed to giving orders. Lots of them.

"Sam Delanian. I'm here to..."

"I know. You already said you were here to rescue me." She cut him off without apology. "What took you so long?"

Sam stared at her, feeling his jaw drop slightly. "What took me so long?"

"It doesn't matter now." One small hand came up to wave dismissingly.

"That's very gracious of you." Either the sarcasm went completely over her head or she chose to ignore it. He couldn't decide which.

"Now that you're here, we can take care of these slime balls."

"Slime balls? Take care of them?" Sam wondered if he'd actually fallen off the balcony and had landed in an episode of Miami Vice. "What are you talking about?"

"The men who kidnapped me." The husky whisper was impatient, as if she suspected him of being slow-witted. "We can capture them. You brought a gun, didn't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Good. They're both sleeping downstairs—"

"I don't care if they're sleeping in the attic, hanging by their heels. I came to get you out of here not pull a Rambo imitation."

"You're not going to just let them get away, are you?"

"I'll call the cops as soon as we get to town."

"No. We're going to handle this ourselves."

"Lady, I'm not handling anything. I'm leaving the same way I got here and you can come with me or not as you please."

He took a step toward the railing and his feet tangled in something on the floor. He staggered slightly before regaining his balance. Leaning down, he lifted a length of cloth.

"What's this?"

"The sheets. I tied them together. I was going to use them to climb down off the balcony."

Sam ran the length of fabric through his hands. It fell well short of the yardage necessary to reach the ground. "You'd never have made it."

"I was going to jump the rest of the way."

"Right, and you'd have broken a leg. Besides, surely you weren't going to leave without subduing your captors."

"There's no need to be nasty. Now that you're here, we can take care of them."

"Just how do you think we're going to take care of them?"